Cold
by sparkles59
Summary: Sometime after the dragons hatch, but before Daenerys' small khalasar travels too far into the Red Waste. My first fanfiction, I would greatly appreciate feedback. Thank you for taking time to read part of my little world.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Ok, here we go. I'm warning you now, this is sad. I've never written fanfiction before, please be gentle!

The night chill pressed in on everything, even biting through the thick, soft furs that covered Daenerys, who huddled in her bed, acutely aware of how alone she was. She pulled her feet up, tucking her knees against her chest as she lay on her side, and she clutched at the small blanket that was meant for Rhaego, holding it fiercely and tightly against her chest, one of the last pieces of evidence that he had existed at all. She shivered and tried to bury herself further under the blankets, battling back the unbidden memories of when all she had to do was roll over and large, warm, comforting arms would embrace her and warm her through and through.

She knew Doreah and Irri were sleeping just on the other side of the tent, and she wanted to call out to them and have them come sleep with her to keep her warm, but her pride wouldn't let her. She knew that if they were to join her, then the tears would come, her heart aching for her sun and stars, for their baby boy. She refused to give in to the urge, refused to let that damned witch have the satisfaction, even after death. Dany wished that climbing onto Drogo's pyre had taken her with him to the Night Lands, instead of leaving her with her dragons and only the memory of him and their son, leaving her with full, aching breasts and painfully empty arms.

Her chest heaved in the silence, and she swallowed thickly, her throat constricted and painful. _NO_, she told herself. _Not tonight. Not ANY night._ _The Mother of Dragons does not cry._ _You're stronger than that, better than that. You are a queen, a Khaleesi. _Despite her self-chastisement, the tears began to flow hotly down her face, searing her cold cheeks. She breathed deeply through her mouth, forcing it in and out slowly, not wishing her sniffles to wake her handmaids.

Her efforts were in vain. Before she even had a chance to actually start sobbing, two pairs of soft and loving arms were surrounding her in the dark, the girls whispering to her soothingly. Doreah and Irri climbed in their Khaleesi's bed, holding her in the darkness, letting her cry, embracing her tightly and loving her the only way they could. Daenerys began to cry in earnest, her cries quickly escalating to sobbing and wailing, screaming out for her husband, for her son, holding onto Doreah with her arms, Irri embracing her from behind, begging them to make the pain stop. She was blinded, deaf to their words, the very real pain in her chest and throat overtaking everything, even filling the great empty void in her heart with its volume.

Her pain overtook everything, and she could no longer feel their presence, having gone deep within herself, receding from the outside world. She was not aware that they cried with her, holding her back as tightly as she held them. She begged them to kill her, to make the pain stop, to prepare her pyre so she could be with Drogo instead of alone, left behind, abandoned. She could not hear their replies, could not feel their arms around her.

Morning found them still in the bed, Daenerys still sobbing her raw and broken wails, her mind completely devoid of anything other than her missing husband and son. Irri managed to untangle herself from her Khaleesi, and went in search of water and Ser Jorah. She found both waiting for her just outside the tent. "We're not moving today," Ser Jorah told her. "Will she permit me to go to her, you think?"  
Irri simply shrugged, exhausted herself, taking the water skins from him. "You can try," she said in the Common Tongue. "She can't hear us." Jorah nodded slowly, and held the tent flap open for her.

"Khaleesi, Ser Jorah is here for you," Doreah whispered in Dany's ear, kissing her softly on the cheek. "I think he wants a turn to hold your pain."  
"Yes," he said simply, removing his armor and sat on the edge of the bed.

Dany gave no sign that she heard them, coiling up into a fetal position around Rhaego's blanket and facing away from them all. Jorah simply leaned over the bed and took her in his arms, holding her in his lap, even though she was still balled up tightly around herself, her sobs starting anew.

He held her quietly for hours, caressing her soft hair, not saying a word. The only time he moved at all was to reach over and grab a blanket and drape it around her, bundling her tightly in his lap. Her body shook with the power of her sobs, still not responding to any words spoken to her.

He wasn't sure when it happened, but she finally fell asleep, clutching his shirt, her exhaustion finally taking over. Heat from the sun and sand began pressing down on them in the tent, and he carried her out to find the breeze, shielding her from the sun's harsh rays, attempting to get her some fresh air. Doreah followed them and left a skin of water next to Jorah while he waited for Daenerys to wake.

She woke as the sun set, curled up in Jorah's arms, head pounding and feeling sick. He brought a skin of water up to her lips, and patiently waited as she drank, stroking her hair.

"You were spared for a reason, Khaleesi," he whispered softly. "You have great things you need to accomplish before rejoining the Khal."

She shook her head slowly, and closed her eyes, refusing to believe his words. Her voice was gone; she couldn't even whisper her protests.

"Khal Drogo loved you, even though his tongue had no word for it. I saw it in his eyes whenever his gaze fell on you. He will visit you from the Night Lands in your dreams, Khaleesi. He is watching over you, and wants to see the great things you will do with your life. Trust in that, even if you believe nothing else for the rest of your days," Jorah insisted, brushing her hair back from her face, forcing her to look at him. "You will be stronger now that you've had this time of mourning. We've been waiting for it, and waiting for you to accept what it means."

She met his eyes briefly, and then turned away. No amount of comfort was going to seep through the chill left in her body.

Ser Jorah helped her to her feet and then watched as she slowly made her way back to her tent, still holding her son's blanket. Her gait was improving, her wounds from Rhaego's birth slowly healing. He ached with her, although Rhaego was not his son, he felt responsible for the baby's death, responsible for her pain now.  
He has stood by her side silently for too long, he realized, looking away when it mattered the most. He was afraid of seeing accusation in those violet eyes, as she would quietly press her forearm against her chest, grimacing in pain before sighing and adjusting her top, her engorged breasts releasing the unneeded milk. He had looked away as she had walked with the remains of her khalasar, her hands gripping her upper arms, holding herself so tightly her fingers left bruises on her pale, tender flesh. He had looked away from her awkward gait, her body torn and wounded from the birth of a baby who had never been placed in his mother's arms before being hastily buried in the hot sand of the desert, not old enough to be put on the pyre with his father. Rhaego would have to be born again at another time, to someone else. He was too young to ride in the Night Lands with Drogo.

Jorah swallowed the lump rising in his throat, watching his khaleesi walk away. Her shoulders were hunched slightly, her walk slow. He took a small drink from the water skin at his side, unable to watch even now. _You are one cowardly man,_ he thought, letting the water slide down his throat and wishing for the fermented mare's milk or even an acidic wine to burn in its place, numbing his mind and heart.

The khalasar camped at the edge of the Red Waste for another night before packing up its meager supplies and population, Daenerys at the head of it, leading her silver mare, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders despite the heat.

She ignored the clicking and squealing of her dragons. They were caged and mounted on another horse, trailing behind their Mother and beseeching her with their cries, but they fell on deaf ears. She simply walked, holding the tiny blanket to her chest as she did, unconsciously putting one foot in front of the other, unable to ignore the pain between her legs, the heaviness and aching of her sex forcing her to slow her walk more than she cared to.

In the hot noonday sun, she stopped to rest, her khalasar immediately stopping with her, waiting for her direction. Without a word, she sat down in the shadow of her mare and stared out into the desert, the rocks and sand seeming endless to her eyes. _No hope,_ she thought. _We can't survive long enough to cross this._

Ser Jorah approached her. "Shall we stop here for the day, Khaleesi?" he asked quietly, prompting her to look vaguely in his direction.

"No," she said, her voice raspy and harsh sounding to her own ears. "Just let me rest a minute. It hurts to walk still. Just for a minute."

He brought water to her lips, but she pushed the vessel away. "Give it to someone who wants to survive, Jorah," she whispered. "I don't want it."

"We need you to have it, my Queen," he murmured back. "Your khalasar will be killed without a leader, and this . . . this stand against the Dothraki will be for naught. Make their deaths mean something, Khaleesi. Avenge your husband and son by living and not admitting defeat here in this wasteland."

Her eyes met his, and he nearly fell to his knees at the sight of such pain in their violet blue depths. It cut him deeper than any blade could reach. He held her gaze as long as he could, feeling the icy chill of despair seep into his soul directly from hers before he had to look away. _Always looking away,_ he chastised himself.

"You can't give up. The Khal wants you to finish this, Daenerys," Jorah said forcefully, trying a different tact.

Her eyes snapped up to his and he froze. "Khal Drogo wants nothing, Jorah. He is dead." Her words slashed at her own heart. "And if any one had any feeling or sense at all, they would have cut me down so I could have been lain on that pyre with him. Rhaego and I belonged there with him! I'm nothing here. I'm what's left when everything else is gone."

"You are what's left because you're stronger than you think, Khaleesi," Jorah replied evenly. "Of that, I'm absolutely sure."

"I wish I could believe that." She looked out to the endless red and baked earth in front of her.

"You should."

"'Should' applies not to queens and khaleesis, Jorah. You do not command me," she bristled, seeming to rally herself.

_Now we're getting somewhere, _he thought, encouraged. "Then command me, my Queen. Guide me, and I will lead until you are recovered."

...

She felt a touch on her face. Opening her eyes slowly, she found herself looking into the eyes of her beloved, his rough fingers touching her cheek softly, the morning light shining golden and warm in their home. He smiled at her before letting his eyes follow his fingers, watching his touch as he so often had.

"Drogo," she sighed.

He said nothing, just traced her face gently as he had so many mornings before leaving their tent for the day. She closed her eyes against the tears, wanting to just _feel_ him near. She felt his tender kiss on her mouth, could even taste the sweetness of his breath as it mingled with hers.

She awoke with a start, the tent dark and cold. Her breath caught in her throat as she choked back a sob. _Gone_, her mind whispered. _He's gone, Daenerys. He's not coming back._ A now familiar aching cramp began to build in her breasts, and she quickly pressed her arm against herself, not wanting the milk to soak through her last clothes.

By morning, she was feverish, the pain in her breasts mounting to the peak of her tolerance. "Milk fever," Irri said softly to Doreah after seeing the blotchy red and inflamed tissue. "Search the khalasar and see if any mothers still have a living baby the khaleesi could feed for a little while."

One mother was found, her tiny daughter almost dead from heat and starvation. Doreah brought them both. Irri took the baby to Daenerys, gently explaining what had to be done, how her milk could not only save the baby, but could end her own life as well. If the infection were allowed to spread, unchecked, Dany would be more than feverish by the day's end.

Dany listened sadly, and passively allowed the baby to be brought to her breast. She cried out from the blinding pain as the babe began to suckle softly, so weak from the journey she could barely swallow. Daenerys didn't touch her, couldn't even bring herself to look at the child, but simply let Irri hold her in position and tend to her. After an hour of sleeping, Irri brought the baby back to nurse the other side. She had grown stronger after just one feeding, and was eager for more. Dany cried the whole time and turned her face away, still refusing to look down at the baby or hold her. _My son should be there, not you, stranger's child. Rhaego, my beautiful Rhaego, where have you gone? Who buried you? Did they wrap you in a blanket? Did someone carefully tend to your little body before putting you in the ground?_

"You're saving this child's life, Khaleesi," Irri whispered softly. "She may yet live."  
"Don't," Daenerys' quiet warning silenced her handmaid. "Just let her feed, I don't want Rhaego's milk to go to waste, but I don't want her to see my face. I'm not her mother. I'm not anyone's mother."

"You are Rhaego's mother, Khaleesi. You will always be."

"There will be none to follow him," Dany whispered. "I won't marry again, and there will be no more children, and no talk of more children, Irri."

"As you wish, Khaleesi," Irri said sadly. As soon as the baby released Daenerys' breast, she was taken back to her mother outside the tent.

Dany again lie down in her bed, and let the silent tears flow. _This is the last time I indulge in this,_ she thought. _We must cross the Red Waste; we must find safety until I can return to Westeros. I must lead these people._

Her fever spiked while she slept, her shivering slowly coming to a halt. She recovered her strength, and managed to get her people to Vaes Tolorro, and then Qarth. The cold however, never left her heart.


	2. Chapter 2

A warm breeze whispered through the sheer silken curtains hanging from the open windows, the scent of the sea and perfumed incense swirled around Daenerys' bedchamber, stimulating her as she entered, exhausted and dirty from the Red Waste. Riches greater than she'd ever known, even in Illyrio's manse in Pentos, went into the decoration of this one room. The wall hangings looked to be embossed with gold, the various vases of flowers and bowls of fruit were works of art beyond their common uses.

She quickly discarded her boots; one heel broken beyond what she thought could be repaired. The woven carpet was soft and luxurious to her weary feet, and silenced her steps as she looked around the room.

The bed beckoned her, the first she'd seen since the burning of Drogo's pyre. She quickly squeezed her eyes shut at that thought. "If I look back I'm lost," she whispered to herself, and was led into an adjacent room for a bath.

It took both handmaidens and two refills of hot water to get their khaleesi clean. She drifted for a few minutes in the hot water, amazed at how good it felt to be clean. Her hair was freshly washed and then wrapped in linen to keep it from tangling, so she leaned back on it as a pillow for her head. Irri poured oil in the bathwater, and the room filled with the scent of spiceflower and cinnamon.

Fresh clothing had been laid out, but Daenerys walked through the room nude, enjoying the breeze on her skin, a cool and soothing kiss after weeks in the burning sun.

She went directly to the bed, but stopped short next to it, suddenly unsure. "Khaleesi?" Irri asked softly, coming to her side, trying to see what had stopped Dany from pulling back the coverlet and slipping in the bed. Dany looked at Irri, then back at the bed. "It's . . . nothing," she said, and then with a deep breath, she climbed in the bed and lay her head down on the soft pillows. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, the tension in her whole body refusing to relax.

The handmaids went about the room quietly, pulling curtains closed, shading the room from the afternoon brightness. Dany listened to them as she feigned sleep, letting out a deep sigh once she knew they were gone. The bed was soft, the padding firm yet pleasantly yielding to her body. The whole thing was scented with flowers she'd never known, fresh and not cloying or heavy.

She soon drifted, her body warm and finally melting into the bed as her breathing slowed. Warmth pressed down on her from all sides, light gleaming in from the shadows. She opened her eyes, slowly taking in the familiar surroundings of the tent pavilion she shared with Drogo. Her bed. Her blankets and pelts strewn over her body, making her too warm. Swiftly she kicked them off, standing in her long dressing gown, the tent silent and glowing in the morning sun.

She could hear the day crickets rasping out their strange music outside, the sounds of grazing horses, the wind through the grass. No people though, no sounds of a bustling khalasar that she'd grown so used to; children crying, building and tearing down of tents, animals being slaughtered for food. So silent it was, she had to go out and look.

Stepping out onto the vast grassland, she quickly spotted her tall husband leading his red stallion toward water. Her throat painfully knotted, and her chest seized. She wanted to run to him, throw herself into his large and comforting arms, but she forced herself to look away, forced herself to wake. She sat up in the bed in Qarth, her breath coming in painful gasps as she fought tears that were suddenly no longer burned away by fire.

Her anxiety had upset her dragons, Drogon in particular. He started to scream his high pitched wail, so she got up and removed him from his cage for a few moments, stroking his neck and whispering soothingly to him. He settled quickly, and she returned him to his cage with one last loving pat before returning to her bed.

She quickly rearranged the pillows, laying one lengthwise against her back, imitating another person's presence, and laid back down. She drew in a few deep cleansing breaths of incense-perfumed air, and let herself sink back down into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I know the first chapter was erratic, and the second too short, but with only 2 reviews, I don't know if I should continue or not. I hope this one hits somewhere in the middle. Tell me if you like it?

Within the captain's quarters aboard the _Balerion_, Daenerys paced angrily, chewing her thumbnail and considering her options. She needed an army. Kraznys mo Nokloz had one, no matter how unappealing he and the 8,000 were, no matter how he insulted her. They had little enough to trade, not near enough for an army, she knew. But an army she must have, and he had what she wanted.

She sighed and stopped by the large table in the middle of the room and poured herself a generous cup of wine. She drank deeply before continuing to pace, keeping hold of her cup, refilling it as she walked and drank, rolling the situation over and over in her head, her irritation dissipating. She regretted slapping Jorah now. She was not about to apologize for it as he had earned that slap through disrespecting her in front of her khalasar, but she still felt regret. Her faithful bear.

What seemed like hours later, she clumsily stumbled to her bed, stripping off her gown and pulling the rough blanket over herself, not bothering with her hair or where her cup had fallen. There were no handmaidens now to help her with these things, they were all dead. Everyone was dead, their blood left on the ground and in Xaro Xoan Doxos' house. Blood of her blood. All she wanted was to sleep without dreaming, without thinking of all the people who left her behind.

She awoke abruptly, startled out of her deep sleep by a familiar sound. Water being sloppily poured from a large vessel into her copper tub. She was back, her furs and cushions, the marriage bed she shared with Drogo. In the dim morning light, he slept next to her, smelling of wine, sun, and a thousand fires. She lay next to him for a few moments, simply looking at him before she could no longer bite back her sobs, and she buried her face in his chest. His strong arms immediately gathered her close, the way she wished he had done in the House of the Undying. He held her tightly as she began crying in earnest, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead gently.

"_I wondered when you would come,"_ he said quietly. "_You ran from me when I tried to come to you. The Great Stallion refused to let me try again to see your dreams."_

"_Am I dead,"_ she sniffled, her hand resting on his chest, stroking his skin lightly, asking him the same question she had in the House of the Undying.

"_No,"_ he chuckled. "_If you were dead, you wouldn't be crying."_

_"How did I get here?" _She whispered so quietly she almost didn't hear herself.

"_You wanted to come, and I was waiting for you,"_ he said simply. He lifted her chin tenderly with his thumb, guiding her to look at his face. "_I miss you, my little Moon." _He kissed her softly.

_"Drogo . . . "_ Her voice broke off as a sob tore through her throat. "_Rhaego . . . "_

_"Shhh, don't worry about him now," _he said gently, and kissed her again. "_You were betrayed. He will be born again, but not to us."_

_"I wanted him so much."_

_"I did, too. I wanted to see you as a mother, my Daenerys. I wanted for you to birth him in the peace and quiet of our home in Vaes Dothrak, not on our way to war in the desert. I wanted him to grow and mount a horse of his choosing, arakh at his side."_

_"There will be no more children for me, my Sun and Stars,"_ she said sadly, the ache in her throat creeping up again, choking her words. "_The maegi cursed my womb. She hurt me."__  
_

_"Do not concern yourself with this matter for now. You need a strong khalasar. You can get the 8,000, but you will need cunning and strategy. Keep your knowledge of his world from him. Do not speak his tongue. Be as he assumes, and then fuck him over with his own cleverness. You have what he wants."_

She smiled at that. Her dragons. Her dragons were the answer she was seeking.

_"Yes,"_ she said simply, resting her head on his chest, just feeling him under her, how _alive_ he felt.  
_"I don't want to wake," _she said quietly.

"_You must, Moon of my life. You have your iron chair to claim."_

_"I do. I must. But not for a few more hours?"_

_"Soon."_

He held her quietly, the sunlight becoming brighter and warming the inside of the tent. She listened to the grass rustle in the wind outside, horses grazing, the day crickets rasping their wings, but she clung to the sound of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest under her head, the way his fingers gently combed through her hair.

She scooted over, tucking one leg on top of his, maneuvering herself to lie on top of him, pressing her body as closely to his as she could get. He made no argument, reaching for her and pulling her into place, tucking her head under his chin, stroking her back with rough hands. "_Your skin has always been so soft,"_ he whispered.

"_And yours has always been warm,"_ she returned, and brought her mouth down onto his, meeting no resistance.

His hands immediately were in her hair, guiding her head and mouth in a deep kiss. He tasted the same, she realized, and moaned into his mouth. She was instantly ready for him, her Sun and Stars waking her body for the first time since the last time he had touched her. She began grinding her hips onto his, feeling his body responding to hers.

He pulled away abruptly. _"Daenerys," _he sighed_. "You will wake soon. I will hold you until you do."_

_"NO! I need you," _she panted, nuzzling back to kiss his mouth again. _"I need you."_

She sat up, panting and aching from Drogo's touch, the dark cabin of the _Balerion_ creaking and rocking. They were leaving? It felt like open water, instead of Slavers Bay. She immediately jumped down from the bunk and dressed.  
Ser Jorah stood on the deck, his face set and grim. "Why are we leaving?" she demanded him.

"Your Grace was disgusted with the slave soldiers. We're heading for Pentos, my Queen," he replied simply, unconsciously raising his hand to his cheek, still feeling the burn of her slap from that afternoon.

"No! Turn back. I want them. I know how to get them all. Every Unsullied will march for me."

He looked at her for a moment as if she'd gone mad, then thought better of it at her infuriated glare. "Your Grace," he acquiesced, bowing slightly and heading to the helm at a jog.

She turned and went back to her cabin and lay down on the bed, still clothed. She turned her head to the pillow, disappointment seeping through her as she realized it only smelled of her. The ache had left, her body no longer feeling the desperate need it had as she'd kissed her husband. Empty, she realized. She felt empty. Alone. Almost as empty as when she awoke and Rhaego was no longer within her. She wondered again if someone had buried him, or left him out and exposed like any other Dothraki babe. Dany couldn't bear to think of it, and chased away the painful ache in her heart with the last of the wine.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Ok, at least one more chapter planned before I wrap this up. Thanks for staying with me and for the words of kindness left in review. I'm grateful.

The heat was making her restless. The march to Yunkai was almost over. Her 8,000 Unsullied, her khalasar, and her Queensguard - Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan, were glad to stop for awhile to water their horses and rest. She was not. After listening to the two men trade stories of Westeros, of jousts and political intrigue, she stalked back to her horse and led it to water. She was a nice little mare, but not nearly so highborn as the spirited silver filly that Drogo had given her as a wedding gift. Still, it was nice to have a mount again. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest for just a moment. _Drogo._ She shook her head and gave the mare her head so she could drink.

She paced in her tent that night, out of wine and full of grief. She sent Missandei to seek out Jorah.

Her faithful bear approached, she could hear his labored breath and clink of breastplate. "Come," she called.

"Khaleesi, you sent for me?" he asked, his eyes on the floor.

"Ser Jorah, look at me please," she said softly, approaching him and taking his hand. "I have questions, and I'm hoping you may have answers for me."

"Anything, Your Grace," he answered, relieved at meeting her gaze and returned her hand's embrace. He let her go and watched as she paced around for a little while, patiently waiting for her request as she calmed her more than subtle agitation.

"Rhaego . . ." she stopped, swallowing her tears, swallowing the intense ache rising in her throat.

"Yes," he whispered, his heart breaking with her, his guilt over taking her to the tent rising to the forefront of his mind. "Rhaego."

Her pause was long as she struggled with her words. "Where did he go?" Her question sounded childish even to her ears. She wished she could retract the question and pull her own words back into her mouth, but it was too late.

Jorah looked puzzled for a moment, unsure what she was truly asking. "To the Nightlands, Khaleesi. He will be born again." His words sounded hollow instead of comforting.

"N . . . no. His . . . body? My son's body?" She was shaking in her efforts to stay calm.

Jorah guided her to sit in a chair, and he knelt on the ground at her feet. He took her hands tenderly, and looked up into her face as he began to tell her.

"The maegi delivered him without aid, Khaleesi. You were delirious and feverish. She brought Rhaego to the door of the tent, and I took him." Jorah looked her directly into her eyes. "_I_ took him and I bathed him . . . " Daenerys began to lose her battle with her tears as she gasped in relief. "And I swaddled him in my last clean shirt. I waited all day, hoping you would wake to at least see him before . . ."

"Before what?" she whispered, tears burning in her eyes. She _would not_ let them fall.

"Before I took two of the stronger men left and we dug him a grave deep enough to keep his body from ever being violated, Khaleesi. I marked it with stones and bits of the shells from the dragons. I will be able to find it again should you wish to go there."

She was fighting her tears. Jorah rose up on his knees and touched her face softly until she looked at him, letting her see his face and his own grief for her child. "Khaleesi, Daenerys, you need to know the maegi _lied_ to you. He was beautiful and perfect. Dark hair on his head, and his mouth was shaped like yours. He did not have wings, he was not deformed in any way."

She nodded slightly, and leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder while she finally gave in and sobbed. He brought his arms up around her, stroking her hair softly, letting her cry. "He was beautiful, my Queen."

"H . . . how small . . . was . . . "

Jorah used his hands to show her how small her son had been, ignoring his own tears as he pressed his cheek to her forehead to keep her head on his shoulder. "I held him for you the entire time, my Queen. I kept praying to the gods for him to just take one breath, _one breath_, so I could bring him to you, even to the Khal if he had recovered."

"He was too small to live, wasn't he?"

"I am neither maester nor midwife, I cannot say for certain. I know my own son was about that size, and only took a dozen breaths before he took no more."

She kept her face downward, nodding as she swallowed the rest of her grief. Her questions were answered, Rhaego again a beautiful dream in her mind. "I needed to know," she whispered. "It wouldn't leave me alone."

"I agree. I was waiting, I suppose, for a time when the pain wasn't so . . . fresh. Khaleesi." He turned to leave, to give her time to process her grief in his part of the sad tale.

"Ser Jorah?"

He stopped in front of the door, and turned to face her. "Yes, my Queen?"

"Do you often think of your son?"

"Every day, in one way or another, I do." His face was set in grim lines once more despite the still wet tears on his face. Daenerys didn't know if they were his tears or hers and realized that it didn't matter.

She whispered, more to herself than to him, "How do you bear it?"

"The pain changes with the years, Your Grace. It never leaves, but it changes."

She nodded, and whispered, "Thank you."

"My Queen." Jorah ducked out of the tent to give her privacy.

Left alone again, she reflected back on the encounter in the House of the Undying. It _could_ have been Drogo and Rhaego, truly, not an illusion of what Pryat Pree thought she wanted to see. She had wanted it to be true, that precious time stolen and so far away from reality. Rhaego had been so beautiful and _perfect _that her heart ached. Drogo had sounded and even smelled the same as she remembered, hot sun, sweat and horses, fires and sex. She wished she could have just buried her face in his neck and stayed there with them, lost in the snow beyond the Wall she'd only heard about in stories and the books Ser Jorah had given her as a wedding gift.

Daenerys realized she had to go on, even without them. She stopped and smiled to herself. She _already had been._ Her mind was just now catching up with her body. Could she continue this fight she was bringing to Yunkai? Yes. Yes, she could, and she would. Either she would win another city and free all the slaves, or she could go on her way to the Nightlands. Either would be a step closer in a direction she wanted to go. Life or death would continue, her journey would be what it was to be. Maybe, just maybe to take the city would be better - just for now. "Drogo, wait for me," she whispered to herself, to the night air. "Find my horse, have her wait for me. I'm coming, just not yet."

She slept peacefully that night, Drogo watching her from his own tent with arakh in hand, proud of his little wife.


	5. Chapter 5

She challenged him with her eyes to look away, look down, and look anywhere but in her eyes. Daario Neharis did not, though she knew he wanted to. He kept his eyes on hers, and swore his life to her . . . not only his life, but also his men and his heart. Another, much handsomer version of Jorah, she thought.

Daenerys thought about Daario after he left her tent. He was handsome, more handsome than she knew men could be. His chin was the same Drogo's had been under his beard, strong and masculine. But that's where the similarities ended. Daario had no braid to show his victories, no visible scars to show his bravery. He could be as green a warrior as the grass on the Dothraki Sea for all she knew. A lieutenant. He was now the leader of the Second Sons simply because he had the faster sword.

She had no idea if he could hold his place as captain. If the Second Sons would not listen to their new leader, she would lose them all. Her Unsullied could take them down, sure, but not without losses, and loss was something she was not willing to accept if it could be avoided. She wanted the city of Yunkai to give up all it's slaves, and she needed every man that would willingly follow her.

She didn't bother dressing for bed, instead simply lying down on her bed still in her dressing gown. She closed her eyes, and thought about Daario and his handsome face. Almost too handsome

Startled, she opened her eyes as Missandei carefully covered her with a blanket. "Your Grace," she whispered in her sweet voice, and stroked Dany's hair once. "Go back to where you were, I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"Missandei?" Dany whispered back. "Would you stay with me? I . . . " Her voice trailed off as her young attendant simply laid down next to her and pulled the blanket over them both.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Dany allowed her eyes to close once more, comforted by the companionable silence that followed, listening to Missandei breathing next to her. She missed Irri suddenly, pain suddenly sharp in her throat and chest. She pressed one palm to her chest, trying to keep the pain from bursting out.

. . . .

Drogo was pulling her hand away from her chest, touching her gently between her breasts with one finger, trailing it down to her navel. Her dressing gown had disappeared, much to her amusement. She began to wonder if these were really dreams, or if they were even her own.

She turned on her side and smiled at him. "_I'm happy to see you," _she whispered. "_I missed you."_

He made no reply, simply leaning forward and kissing her lightly on the lips. He pulled back, and watched her face as he traced it tenderly with his fingers, barely touching her. She brought her hand up to hold his, and scooted closer to him.

_"Drogo,"_ she started quietly, but he brought his fingers up to her lips to silence her.

She glanced around the room and sighed happily. Their home in Vaes Dothrak surrounded her, their bedroom dark and cool even on the hottest day. She could hear people moving about outside, horses and goats, laughing children, even though they were muted through the earthen walls.

_"Is this where everyone comes, to Vaes Dothrak?" _she asked, looking back to his face.

"_Every Dothraki, with everything we needed in life. The Great Stallion provides well for us, Moon of my Life,"_ he finally said. "_I even get to visit with you once in a while."_

"_I'm just visiting?" _she asked, not sure if the pain in her chest was her grief or death itself.

_"Yes, just visiting."_

_"Drogo," _she began again, needing him to understand.

He met her eyes, and she saw the sadness there in his dark green eyes. Sadness, but acceptance was there, too.

"_You want him,"_ he said quietly.

"_Not as much as I want you. If you were with me in Yunkai, I wouldn't have looked at him twice,"_ she said with conviction. "_I must do what I must do to live, my Sun and Stars."_

He nodded, quiet for now. He looked around the room, toward the entryway to the front of their home, anywhere but at her. "_I'm sorry if this hurts you. It hurts me, too. I don't understand it, nor is it entirely welcome. We shared a child, Drogo. Rhaego was ours. That will NEVER change."_

_"But now this man is going to try to claim my wife, and I can do nothing." _His voice was flat as he looked directly into her eyes.

She sighed, her joy at being with him dissolving into sadness. "_I don't want to use our time together like this,"_ she said tearfully, resting her hands on his strong shoulders. _"You are my Sun and Stars. You always will be, Drogo. I want to come to you when my time is done, and find my place at your side. This," _she gestured to the bed and the room surrounding them, "_This is home. My home. My home is here with you."_

He held her tightly then, so tightly that her ribs began to ache. "_That comforts me mightily, my little Moon," _he whispered in her ear. "_I want that, too. I don't want you going with someone else to a Westerosi place I can't find in the Night Lands. I want to always find you."_

_"I always want to be found, my Sun and Stars," _she murmured back, kissing his ear.

"_Be careful with this man. You know only my ways, to live a life out in the open, for all the stars to see. Not all men live this way."_

_"I know. I admired you for that." _She laid her head down on his chest, resting her hand over his heart. She was always amazed at the strength of its beating, especially now. She remembered how it felt, laying her head down on his rapidly cooling body, hearing nothing in his chest at all.

_"It was not enough." _He gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her against him snugly.

_"No, it wasn't. But it was enough for me," _she agreed sadly.

He thought carefully and then asked_, "This man, will he hold you higher in his thoughts than his sword?"_

_"I don't know."_

"_He _must_. You will need such a man."_

_"I need no man, my Sun and Stars. You were all I needed."_

_"It's the way of life, Daenerys." _His use of her given name made her look up at him_. "A man needs a woman, and a woman needs a man. You may not want a protector or a husband, but to have them will make life easier. You said yourself, you need to do what you need to do to live."_

_"And for you, my Sun and Stars?"_

_"I'll wait for my wife. She'll be here with me in her own time," _he said, smiling at her_. _

She huffed at his smiling face, amused but a bit frustrated with his attitude.

"_His name is Daario," _she said softly. "_What if I choose to just have him for a short time?"_

_"You may choose to do so. It would make me feel better if you did," _he said, his tone even and light.

Now he was teasing her outright, she knew, and she slapped him lightly on the chest. "_Would it really?"_

_"No." _He chuckled. "_What would make me feel better is to wake next to you every day for the rest of the days and nights here. My time for happiness will come. You carry it with you." _

"_And if Daario and I choose to marry?"_

_"I will ensure you dream of me every night until he dies."_

She laughed outright at that, and Drogo looked at her with love. "_I miss that sound,"_ he said softly. "_Your laugh is a gift to me, Daenerys." _ He leaned over and kissed her then, really kissed her, touching her cheek softly as he did. "_You will not be angry with me if I do not come to you when you're with him?" _he asked as he pulled back from her lips.

"_No, I won't. I wouldn't come to you either, if you were with someone here," _she replied softly_,_ tucking herself into his side.

"_You will wake soon. I will miss you greatly, Daenerys. Find someone you can trust with your life. You deserve to be honored and kept safe." _He kissed her once more.

Dany sat upright in the bed, startling Missandei.

"Your Grace?" she gasped, nearly falling out of the bed.

Dany just looked at her for a moment and simply said, "I think . . . I think that was goodbye."

A/N: And . . . that's it. It's all I've got.


End file.
